Chapter 8: The Storage Unit at the End of the Hall
I searched my bedroom three times before accepting that the key was gone.
I checked beneath the sewing table, inside the drawers, and under the carpet where the box had rested.
Nothing.
Lily stood by the door, watching me.
“Emily, stop for a second.””
“I had the key in my hand.””
“I know.””
“I put it on the desk while I read the letter.””
“I know.””
“Then someone took it.””
Lily glanced toward the hallway.
“Who knew you were looking through the box?””
“My father. Vanessa. Diane.””
“And the person sending those messages.””
I looked at the open sewing box.
“Maybe the person who took the key is the same person who sent the video.””
“Or someone who doesn't want us to reach the storage unit.””
I swallowed.
The possibilities were multiplying faster than I could make sense of them.
We photographed the empty desk, the open box, and the envelope. Then I called my father.
He answered after two rings.
“Emily?””
“Did you come into my room this morning?””
“No. Why?””
“Someone took the key from Mom's sewing box.””
There was a long silence.
“Where are you?””
“At home.””
“Stay there. I'm coming back.””
“Dad, I don't need you to tell me to stay calm. I need you to tell me whether you know anything about the storage unit Mom rented.””
Another silence.
Then he said, “Yes.””
My knees weakened.
“You knew about it?””
“Yes.””
“What's inside?””
“I don't know.””
“You don't know?””
“Your mother rented it without telling me what she planned to store there. I found the contract after she died, but the key was missing.””
I looked at Lily.
She mouthed, Ask him where.
“Where is the facility?””
He gave me the address.
It was the same one written on the envelope.
“Dad, someone took the key. We think they may be trying to stop us from going there.””
“Then don't go until I get home.””
“Why?””
“Because if that unit contains what I think it contains, you need to understand what you're walking into.””
“What do you think it contains?””
He exhaled shakily.
“Evidence.””
“Evidence of what?””
“Of what Richard Price did to your mother.””
I closed my eyes.
“Dad, I am tired of everyone knowing the truth except me.””
“I understand.””
“Then tell me everything.””
He was quiet for a moment.
“Not over the phone. Give me twenty minutes.””
The call ended.
Lily folded her arms.
“Do you believe he'll tell you the truth?””
“I don't know.””
“Then we make sure we have a backup plan.””
She opened her phone and searched for the storage facility's contact information.
“If the key is missing, we can still ask about the unit. Your mother's name should be on the contract.””
I nodded.
We called the facility.
A manager named Mr. Collins answered. After verifying the information we could provide, he confirmed that the unit remained registered under Claire Carter's name.
“Has anyone accessed it recently?”” I asked.
“I'm afraid I can't discuss access records without the required authorization.””
“What if someone stole the key?””
“Then the registered owner or authorized representative would need to follow our security procedures. We can arrange an appointment with proof of identity and the relevant documents.””
“Could someone else have entered it?””
“Not without a valid access credential and the required authorization.””
I thanked him and ended the call.
At least the missing key didn't mean the contents were gone.
But it did mean someone might be trying to get ahead of us.
Twenty minutes later, my father arrived.
He entered the house carrying a small cardboard box.
Inside were old photographs, a notebook, and a sealed envelope.
“I should have told you about the storage unit years ago,” he said.
I stood by the kitchen counter.
“Why didn't you?””
“Because your mother asked me not to.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Another promise.””
He accepted the criticism without protest.
“Claire believed Richard had been monitoring her work. She was afraid that if he knew she had preserved copies of the original designs, he would try to destroy them.””
“So she rented the unit.””
“Yes. She stored some of her notebooks, correspondence, and early drafts there.””
“Why didn't you tell Eleanor?””
“Because I didn't know whether Richard had someone watching her studio. I thought the safest thing was to keep the location private.””
“Then how did the anonymous person find out?””
He looked at the cardboard box.
“I don't know.””
I opened the notebook.
The first pages contained dates, measurements, and lists of fabric purchases. Then the handwriting changed.
My mother's notes became shorter, sharper.
Richard asked about the original Wildflower sketches again.
Eleanor believes the dispute can be settled privately.
Daniel says we should wait.
I don't know how much longer I can trust anyone.
I stopped reading.
My father looked away.
“Did Mom ever suspect you?””
“Yes.””
“Of what?””
“Of keeping too much from her.””
The admission landed heavily.
He sat down.
“Emily, I loved your mother. But I made decisions for her that I had no right to make. I thought I was protecting her. Sometimes, I was protecting myself from the consequences of telling the truth.””
I stared at him.
“That's the first honest thing you've said to me in days.””
He nodded.
“I know.””
He opened the sealed envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of the original storage agreement and a small photograph of my mother standing outside the facility.
On the back, she'd written:
If Emily ever comes here, let her choose what to do with the truth.
I pressed my lips together.
“Then that's what I'm going to do.””
My father looked at me.
“I'll go with you.””
I hesitated.
Part of me wanted to refuse. Another part wanted him beside me when we opened the last door my mother had left behind.
“Fine,” I said.
“But no more secrets.””
He nodded.
“No more secrets.””
The storage facility stood behind a row of auto shops on the outskirts of town. Its corrugated metal buildings were surrounded by a tall fence, and the air smelled of wet concrete and motor oil.
Mr. Collins met us at the front office.
After reviewing the documents and confirming my identity as my mother's daughter, he arranged for us to access the unit under the facility's procedures.
The hallway was long and dimly lit. Metal doors lined both sides, each marked with a number.
We stopped at Unit 214.
The lock was intact.
My father stared at it for a long moment.
“Your mother chose this place because it was close enough to visit but far enough from the studio to avoid attention.””
“Did you ever come here with her?””
“Once.””
“What did you see?””
“Boxes. Sketchbooks. A garment bag. She wouldn't let me look through anything.””
Mr. Collins checked the paperwork and opened the unit.
The door rolled upward with a metallic rattle.
Inside, dust floated through a narrow shaft of light.
There were six cardboard boxes, a wooden trunk, two garment bags, and a small folding table. A stack of fabric samples rested against the back wall.
I stepped inside.
The first box contained old sewing patterns and fabric swatches. The second held notebooks, receipts, and letters. The third contained photographs of my mother working in the studio with Eleanor.
My father remained near the entrance.
I opened the wooden trunk.
Inside lay a collection of original sketches tied with a faded blue ribbon.
My hands shook as I untied it.
The first sketch showed a midnight-blue gown with silver embroidery and crimson flowers.
The second showed the same design from the back.
The third contained a detailed drawing of the bodice, including the tiny embroidered C that had appeared in my stolen designs.
I sank onto the folding chair.
These were the originals.
My mother had created them years before I was born.
And she'd kept them safe.
Beneath the sketches was a leather notebook with her initials embossed on the cover.
I opened it.
The first pages contained design notes. The later pages contained copies of letters and records documenting the dispute with Richard.
Then I found an entry dated three days before the Paris exhibition.
Richard has asked Daniel to bring the original collection to the private viewing. Daniel believes this will prevent Richard from replacing the sketches with altered copies.
I looked at my father.
“Is this what happened?””
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
I continued reading.
I trust Daniel to protect the collection. But I fear he doesn't understand that Richard isn't simply trying to steal my work. He wants the rights to everything I have created, including the designs I haven't shown Eleanor.
My chest tightened.
The next entry was dated the night of the exhibition.
Daniel returned without the portfolio. He says he has hidden the originals. Richard has threatened to accuse him of theft if he doesn't reveal the location.
I looked up again.
My father was staring at the floor.
“You really did hide them.””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
He swallowed.
“I won't tell you until you see the rest.””
I turned another page.
The handwriting was shakier now.
Eleanor believes Daniel took the collection to sell it. I know he didn't. But I cannot explain the truth without exposing the person who helped us uncover Richard's fraud.
My fingers froze.
The person who helped them uncover Richard's fraud.
Someone else had been involved.
I read the next line.
If anything happens to me, Emily must know that the designs were never the most important thing I left behind.
My heart began to pound.
I turned the page.
There was a list of names.
Eleanor Whitmore.
Daniel Carter.
Richard Price.
And one final name, written in darker ink.
*Diane Carter.*
I stared at it.
“Why is Diane's name here?””
My father took a step closer.
“Because Diane was there that night.””
“What?””
“She was working as an assistant at the exhibition. She saw Richard alter the records. She helped your mother make copies of the original documents.””
I looked at him in disbelief.
“Diane helped Mom?””
“Yes.””
“Then why would she help Madison steal my designs?””
My father shook his head.
“I don't know.””
I turned back to the notebook.
A folded document was tucked into the binding. I pulled it free.
It was a letter addressed to my mother.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Richard Price.
Claire,
You have until Friday to surrender the original designs and sign the revised agreement. If you refuse, I will make sure Eleanor believes you betrayed her. Daniel will be implicated in the disappearance of the collection, and Diane's role in the matter will become public.
I read the letter twice.
Then I looked at my father.
“Diane was being threatened.””
He nodded.
“She was young. Richard had promised her a position at the studio. When she helped your mother, he threatened to ruin her career.””
“So she turned against Mom?””
“I thought she had.””
“What does that mean?””
He didn't answer.
I searched the trunk again and found a small metal cash box beneath the sketches.
It was locked.
My father stared at it.
“Your mother never let me open that.””
“Do you know what's inside?””
“No.””
I examined the box. There was a narrow slot at the top and a tiny label on the side.
For Emily.
I pressed the lid.
It didn't move.
Then I noticed a folded note taped beneath the box.
The note contained a series of numbers and one sentence.
The key is where the first dress was born.
I stared at the words.
The first dress was born.
My mother's sewing machine?
The silver key I'd found in the envelope?
No. That key had opened the cabinet in her sewing studio.
I thought about the photograph of my mother holding up a patchwork skirt, laughing beside the machine.
Then I remembered something else.
The first dress she'd ever made for me.
A tiny yellow sundress, sewn when I was four.
I'd kept it in a storage box in my bedroom because I couldn't bear to throw it away.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“We need to go home.””
Before we could leave, my father's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“Richard,” he said coldly.
I froze.
My father listened without speaking.
Then he said, “You have no right to contact my daughter.””
A pause.
“No. You don't get to threaten her.””
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
“What did he say?””
My father put the phone in his pocket.
“He knows we've found the unit.””
“How?””
“I don't know.””
I looked at the open trunk, the original sketches, and the locked cash box.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from the unknown number.
*You have the collection. Now find the contract.*
A second message followed.
*And whatever you do, don't let Diane see the last page.*
I turned toward my father.
He was staring at the notebook.
May you like
His face had gone completely white.
Because the last page was already missing.
